


A Roman Idyll

by MercuryGray, MontmartreParapluie



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Multi, Painting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontmartreParapluie/pseuds/MontmartreParapluie
Summary: An alternative universe re-telling of events in Montmartre-Parapluie's An Idyll in Gunpower. John Graves Simcoe -- or, rather, Junius Gnaeus Simconius -- newly cashiered out of the army and returned home to nurse his wounds over losing the woman he loved, is commissioning a set of frescoes for his family villa. Lizze Lowndes -- ahem, Livia Balba -- is going to paint them for him.





	1. Entering the Arena

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Idyll in Gunpowder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941615) by [MontmartreParapluie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontmartreParapluie/pseuds/MontmartreParapluie). 



> A few weeks ago I teased on tumblr that we’d been working for a long time on a not-quite an-alternate-timeline-AU of MontmartreParapluie's fic An Idyll in Gunpowder. (Same great Lizzie, same great Simcoe - now with 500% more Roman Empire setting.)
> 
> Well, friends, today is your lucky day. In honor of Fandom Fic Rec Week, here’s the first part of A Roman Idyll. Featuring more naughty Roman frescoes than you can shake a stick at, a cameo by the famous Lavinia, not one but two sex scenes, and so much sexual tension between Simcoe and Lizzie - ahem, Simconius and Livia - that you could cut it with a knife and serve it for dessert with coffee. 
> 
> (Super Not Safe For Work. You know how everyone jokes Simcoe is a bit of a sadist? Well, we went went there.)
> 
> For anyone who came here expecting a serious TURN fanwork, turn back now. This isn't it.
> 
> It probably shouldn't live here at all, but in the interest of making this story a little bit easier to read, we are cross-posting this on tumblr and here on AO3.
> 
> While the story remains focused on Simcoe and Lizzie, there will be occasional splashes of other characters from the TURN universe, as well as some new original characters. 
> 
> Historians in the audience, please be kind; we wrote this without much in the way of background research and some of our history, geography and names, frankly, may be spotty.

'Ooo, look at you, out in your best frock,' one of her neighbors observed merrily from her seat at the window, looking down with apparent interest as Livia Balba left her building’s front door, portfolio and note tablet in hand. 'Out for a commission, then?' 

 

Livia nodded, pausing to look up at the window with a shaded hand. 'Isn't it a bit early for you, Tullia?' 

 

The prostitute preened. 'Big spender came in yesterday - got to have an early night last night for it. But you didn't answer my question.' Livia rolled her eyes - if there was one thing neighbors seemed to love more than anything, it was gossip. And the brothel next to her house was no different in that regard than neighbors anywhere.

 

'Praetor Simconius has a new house that needs decorating. Apparently Scarpax gave him my name.'

  
'He's all right, that one,' Tullia said thoughtfully. Caius Scarpax was the owner of the brothel in which she worked, as well as half a dozen other establishments in other parts of Rome. 'Talking about setting up another house on the other side of town and taking some of the girls.'   
  
'Oh really?' Livia cocked her head. You heard more interesting truth from the brothel than any demure matron's sewing circle. Livia knew what commissions to accept and which to graciously turn down (as the case with overly-forward Senator Piso proved. The man was a veritable satyr swathed in a toga). 'If he does set up a house, do let me know?' Livia smiled. Some of her best clients were bawdmasters needing advertisements for their wares. 'You know I only advertise for the best...'

  
Tullia smiled. 'You know I will. Well, best of luck - don't let me make you late.' She drew herself back inside the window, and Livia went on her way, tucking her veil around her head and walking as quickly as possible in the direction of the better side of town, hoping her tunic wasn't showing any of the wine stain at the hem. It was one thing to be one of the town's best fresco painters - and another thing trying to get people to pay up after the work was done.

 

No, better her commissions be small things from shopkeepers - folk who knew what it was like to deal with unpaid bills. But these nobles -- honestly. Trying to make their stewards pay up was like squeezing money from a stone. She was making it a point to have a contract drawn up at the temple for her commissions now - especially big ones like this Simconius one.   
  
Of course, the priests themselves could sometimes be a little tardy with commissions themselves. But noblemen shuffled into  _ some _ sort of order in the presence of religion. There was that, at least, Livia thought wryly to herself. And given the upstanding reputation of Praetor Simconius, it would never do for him to have the reputation of defaulter and cheat. Livia rather wished she knew a little more about him than his 'public' reputation, to be honest. Upstanding if severe magistrate. Austere, old family (and doubtless old money) Probably had stewards tending to rich provincial farms and a list of properties as long as your arm. 

  
She arrived at the gate, lowering her veil just a little. 'Livia Balba,' she said briefly to the door-keeper. 'Here to see your master.’

  
The door-keep sniffed a little at her, but let her in, calling for another slave to escort her into the Master's study.'  Going through the house, it became clear that if the praetor's family was old, the villa was decidedly not - walls in plain colored plaster and new roof tiles, as well as a painfully new fountain, spoke all at once of an old house having just had major renovations to bring it up to social snuff. She was counting walls as she walked, toting up numbers in her head and thinking, idly, that a seascape would look nice there, a vineyard scene here, perhaps a few figures of the honored family in the dining room -- she could charge more for those. Was the praetor a learned man? Perhaps he would like some scenes from the Aeneid.

  
It was always best to go into these meetings with some ideas - these great men never knew what they wanted -- only what everyone else was doing.   
  
He clearly was the sort of man who expected obedience, mind; you could learn a lot about a man from his slaves, The one who knocked respectfully on the door of the 'master's study' moved like an old soldier's man. Ex-military. Possibly some old gladiator bought at a knockdown price. But he was well-dressed, not half-starved like some nobleman's hirelings -   
  
'Come!' a terse voice said from within.

  
'Livia Balba, come about the painting,' The slave announced. The figure at the desk looked up from his scroll and gestured her in.

 

'Sit.'

 

Livia balked. Had he just...ordered her into the chair? Like a common slave? She was a citizen of Rome and would do as she pleased in that regard. Nobles. All the same. She pretended for the moment he had said 'Please' and arranged herself in the chair opposite his desk, taking a moment to study her client while he continued whatever he was working on.   
  
He hadn't bothered to even glance up from his papers, and Livia took the time to assess her new patron carefully. The impression she had was... power. All noblemen pretended to it, of course - even the hedge-knights with nothing better than a name and a Tuscan farm - but there was a distinct aura from this man that wasn't feigned - it was real. Real as the circus panthers that paced the length of their cages before a fight. Livia had painted one once. All velvet and claws. She had the same feeling from this man. But he seemed perfectly ordinary - the usual robes of a politician, the close-cropped head... and the countless scrolls of what Livia realised weren't his accounts, but appeared to be a copy of Suetonius. A scholar, then?

  
He took his time looking up from his work, but, thankfully, laid it and his pen aside finally and sat up, arranging his toga with ultimate care. 'Caius Scarpax gave your name at a dinner party some nights ago as a rather good fresco artist. I am in need of decorations and am willing to pay.'

  
Well, but he was brusque. Livia tried to compose herself a little. 'Were there...any rooms in particular you were looking to finish, sir?' She asked, opening her clay tablet and rubbing the surface so it was ready to write.   
  
Something flickered across Simconius' face for a moment. He had finally deigned to look up at her  at last, and he sat back, evidently somewhat surprised. 'Scarpax said you were a woman.' He said, looking her over. He eyes followed the curve of her neck and the coil of dark hair at her nape, the amber necklace at her throat. 'He didn't say...' He snapped his mouth shut again, lips thinning.  'Public rooms,' he said, at last. 'This is an old house. I only inherited it recently, and it isn't fit for entertaining public figures.' He waved a hand dismissively. 'Whatever's usual. I'm told woodland groves are the fashion, now.' 

 

Livia mentally rolled her eyes, but nodded. 'I can make a start-'   
  
'Wait.' The praetor swallowed. for the first time he looked... embarrassed.There was a flicker of some strongly repressed emotion passing over his face - but he held it in check. 'There is...something else.'

  
Livia tried not to smile. Oh, this should be a treat. She knew that look - that was the look of a man who was about to ask for something of which he knew his wife would not approve -- and Livia didn't think the praetor was married, which made it all the more interesting. 'I should also like...to have some private rooms done also. My own cubiculum, of course, and some others.'

 

She tried not to look too amused. These lords, all the same. What should she care if he wanted satyrs lunging hungrily at wood nymphs -- or at more satyrs? She'd simply book a few models for it. (Scarpax ran a brothel for that sort a few doors down, and she knew a few of them personally - nice lads, nothing against them, and most willing for the coin on a modeling commission.)   
  
Livia adopted her most neutral expression (which was the painstaking work of many years in the painting business) and held her stylus politely to the ready. 'Figure-work, of course,' she said smoothly. 'Do you have any particular requests?' Her cool, impersonal tone seemed to take Simconius by surprise - although not altogether unpleasantly. A  muscle twitched in his neck as he turned slowly to stare at her. It wasn't the gaze of a man greedily counting up what he could seize for himself - the usual lustful gaze of a man looking at a woman. It was a speculative look, as though he was already imagining all sorts of uses for her - some of which she could barely imagine herself. She coloured.   
  
'You certainly aren't what I was expecting,' he commented, leaving his gaze to linger - not impolitely, but with the barest hint of suggestion - on her neckline. 'You are not offended at the task?'

 

Offended? Offense was for women who didn’t have to worry about paying the rent every month. 'I am an artist, sir - I paint everything. I have done some of the same type of work at other houses, if you'd care to see a portfolio. Most of Caius Scarpax's establishments have some of my work, on the Street of the Gemini and in the Perian Quarter.' There  - so he would know she had done brothel commissions and advertisements for every taste -- men with men and men with women. (Some women with women, too, but he didn't...quite seem the type for voyeurism, she thought.) 

 

But that gaze...Livia was getting hints of Senator Piso again. (Although, to be fair, the Praetor was a deal younger and a great deal better looking.)

 

'Had you any ideas as to the subjects, sir?' she asked, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand.   
'I have contacts on the Street of the Gemini, if you would like some...suggestions.'   
  
'I thank you for the offer, but no,' the praetor said, as politely as if he were refusing another glass of wine at dinner. 'I -' his eyes looked away from her - 'have certain... requirements. I already gave the matter some thought...' He rifled through the papers on his desk, and slid a carefully folded piece of parchment across the desk. He had clearly picked up on her polite return to business; his voice was cool. 'I have placed instruction here. If you require models, of course, that is entirely up to you - Scarpax said you were discreet. I expect the same service.' 

 

Livia nodded, took the paper in her hand. 'My reputation precedes me, I see.' she said, dryly. 

 

'Not entirely.' The praetor sat back. 'I made enquiries before I sought you out. You're a woman from tolerable family, citizens all. Not a city prostitute, or a slave. How does a woman like yourself find this kind of work?' He sounded genuinely curious.

  
'My father was a painter also; he taught me what he knew and the gods gave me the rest. It lets me earn a living and pay the temple tax,' Livia said promptly.

 

'Not married, then?' Simconius asked, his interest polite.

 

'The gods have not been so good, sir.' Livia sat up and unfolded the paper, expecting a sheet of academic notes and finding, instead, a series of...half-rendered sketches. Livia felt her insides flame a little, as they did sometimes when the sounds at the house next door got to be a little too loud of an evening. Gnaeus Simconius was a man of somewhat exotic tastes.   
  
She had been required to paint a similar scene only once, at the House of Flora - a somewhat more upmarket brothel close to the Palatine Hill. The girl outstretched on the bed, pale buttocks invitingly upturned, whilst her partner held a birching rod upraised in one hand, other hand preparing an already virile phallus for entry. His face was contorted like a theatre mask - ecstasy personified. Well. If that was what the praetor enjoyed. She ignored the slight flare of heat in her stomach and looked up, matter-of-factly. Simconius was watching her expression, trying to gauge her reaction 'Full scale?' she enquired. 'Or simply a panel? The price is proportionate,' she added, wondering what that would do to him. Men, Tullia was fond of telling her, were all the same - tell them they were small and they'd spend forever and a day trying to prove you wrong. And it was no different with rich men -- try to tell them that something was too expensive, and they'd be all too eager to prove you wrong. 

 

She'd gotten several very good commissions that way - and the slight frown in the praetor's face told her that was exactly what she might expect here. 

 

'A full panel,' he decided. 'Perhaps...two or three, around the room. I leave the other subjects to your discretion.'

  
'Some nymphs, perhaps, sir? Pastorals with Bacchantes are often a nice contrast.'   
  
'If you like.' He sounded bored - although he still looked a little piqued at the slight inference that his purse could scarce afford a full panel. 'I want.. dark hair. On the - the female subjects for the fresco.' Livia couldn't help but remember the way his gaze had slid lingeringly over her own hair. The praetor had a predilection for brunettes? Good. He was morely likely to be a fool when it came to prices. With that in her mind, Livia couldn't resist a slightly barbed question, by way of a parting shot - and also something of a satisfaction for her own curiosity. 

 

'Will that be all? I have done several Greek scenes for Caius Scarpax. If you would like...?' 

 

Caius, it was well known, liked 'both eggs and apples', as the prostitutes said. His walls were filled with young Adonis, Jove in amorous embrace with a pouting Ganymede. The praetor wasn't the same, from his sketches - all dark-haired women, all in various throes of anguished pleasure - but she wanted to shake the deadpan facade of this man a little. See something more than a dismissive aristocrat.   
  
His frown deepened. Ah, so she had him there.  'I think  _ not _ ,' he said. 'This shall, of course, be my marital chamber. Perhaps Almighty Jove and Juno.'  _ But  _ **_not_ ** _ Ganymede _ , the tone of his voice seemed to say. An upstanding Roman citizen at all costs, then. Livia nodded, noting it down on her tablet and tucking the page of sketches into her portfolio. A visit to Tullia and her friends might be in order after this. 

 

'Shall we go and see the rooms, sir? I shall need to have some idea of size.' If Simconius had any objections, he hid them well, rising from his seat. She half expected him to call for his servant, but he did no such thing, leading the way out of the room himself. Evidently he intended to give her a tour himself - a strange request for a rich man. Guiding the help was usually servant's work.

  
He walked, she noticed, like a soldier, and she could see, in several of the rooms they passed, evidence of a life lived abroad - maps and travel-battered cases, a stand of armor, well-used, several pieces of foreign pottery of exceptional design.

  
The triclinium was spacious and well-appointed, though, again, the walls were bare - of course with his guests this room would be rather predictable. (One did not quite need an image of a woman being enthusiastically sexed while one was eating) Several empty panels along the peristyle also begged for decoration, the same she'd marked when she came in. And then the private wing of the house. 'Just here,' Simconius said, gesturing dismissively up the stairs. Ah, yes. His private room.

 

'I expect this all will take some weeks,' he mentioned, as she walked about the room taking measurements of the walls with her stylus. 

 

'It is usual for an artist to remain onsite during the process,' Livia said plainly. 'Food and lodging during my work is part of my price. And I shall expect not to be in with the servants,' she added, for emphasis. 'I am a citizen.'   
  
Was that an amused smile scudding across the man's face? He didn't seem fazed by the request. Perhaps he was politely astounded at the notion that lowly citizens had pride. 'Naturally. There are rooms enough. I do not dine formally here, but what there is-' he shrugged. 'You would be welcome to join me. I have no company. And a citizen cannot dine with slaves. That is not the proper order of things.'

  
'I shall take dinner alone,' she said, preferring not to repeat Senator Piso again. When one allowed one liberty, these great men seemed to think one allowed all the liberties - and that was a door she would rather not open. 'I think I have everything I require here, my lord. I shall have the contract drawn up for your seal at the Temple of Mercury.' A momentary expression of distaste crossed his face. 'It is my usual practice, sir -- but I think in this case we may leave the exact subject matter out and deal strictly in measurements and time.' Let that settle him. So he didn't want his proclivities on the temple records -- well, but that was hardly surprising, given his tastes. 

 

'I will send my steward when we are ready for you,' the praetor said. Livia, sensing the meeting was at an end, gave her best curtsy and left. She was nearly all the way home when it finally hit her. A commission! A  _ big _ commission, probably her largest yet. She stopped at a stall and pulled several grimy sesterces out of her purse to purchase a honied bun, standing in the street to eat it with childish abandon, the rich syrup running down her chin. A commission!

 

'Well, aren't you in a festive mood!' Tullia observed again from her window as Livia came skipping down the street. 'Commission go well?' 

 

'At least five full panels, and two - maybe three - panels with figures,' Livia reported. 

Tullia clapped. 'Good girl! That calls for a celebration - come up here and we'll send Astyanax out for some wine and cakes and I’ll tell you what I learned today from my friend up the street...'

 

The brothel was quiet at this time of day - a few of the girls doing mending or playing at dice, waiting for the sun to go down and their workday to start. Tullia, as one of the more senior women on staff, had her own room, rather than one of the little cubicles in the dormitory on the second floor, and a key to the rooftop -- and it was to there that they repaired with a skin of wine swiped from the tavern and a plate of cakes from the bakery down the way, lovingly brought by Astyanax, the little eight-year old son of one of Tullia’s co-workers.

  
' So…’ Livia helped herself to a lemon cake, enjoying the last rays of warmth from the evening sun. 'Do tell, Tullia. What did you find out about Junius Gnaeus Simconius? Anything I should know before painting his olive groves and household gods?'

  
Tullia smiled and poured more wine. 'Well, I made some inquiries while you were out swanning around with the gentry. He's an ex-military man, just recently made praetor. Bit of an authoritarian -- girl I was talking with had a brother in his legion and he said he was always a bit happy with the whip. Of course, that could be because he was unhappy -- at the time, there was a big scandal in the Legion because him and another officer were after the same woman.' Tullia smiled and licked her fingers, pleased as punch that she had this wealth of riches to report.

 

'Don't tell me,' Livia predicted with a smile. 'Dark hair.'   
  
Tullia stared. 'How did you know? ' Her smile grew broader. 'Having her painted up on his wall, is he?' She shook her head. 'Apparently he also likes them fierce. Bit of a fire-eater, this girl - temper like a Fury when her blood was up. But Marcus Honorius offered marriage, you see - and well, what would you prefer? Marriage, or a fly-by-night mistress of a morose fellow like that?And it couldn't have lasted. But Simconius took it badly. So now there's a pretty little piece uptown that he sees a few times a week. High class place for, ah...' Tullia's smile curled. 'Interesting interests.'

 

'Like getting slapped around?' Livia asked. Tullia looked pleased as punch. 'We're doing a bit of that, too. That's to be one of the figure work scenes -- he's even done me the honor of drawing it himself.' She dug in her portfolio and drew out the paper, letting Tullia unfold it. 

 

The prostitute inspected it with an expert eye. 'He's not half bad - most men would have drawn it bigger.'   
  
' And you wouldn't think he'd be the modest type, either!' Livia said. ' Though I'm surprised. I thought his sort preferred to be beaten, rather than to beat?'

  
Tullia smiled. 'Some men like that -- powerful types - like being made to cower for a bit. My friend up the Aventine has some regulars who can't get it up unless they're playing at slave markets, tied up and everything. Maybe he likes it both ways. Or maybe,' she added, 'He didn't give you the other drawing out of embarrassment. Save a bit of face, to be the powerful one here. Bet you he's got more of this -- see, it's ripped here, like there was more.' she pointed to the edge of the paper. 'Will you be needing models?' she asked, handing the paper back over and letting Livia put it away.   
  
'Well, he's requested one of Jove and Juno. For the marriage bed, you know? How imperious can you look, Tullia? I want goddess-like majesty.' Livia couldn't help but smile. 'Really... he has his cavorting birchings on one wall, and the gods looking in from the next? I pity the poor noble virgin who has that staring down from her wall every day...'

  
'Oh, you can't subject the poor girl to that - no, do...do Venus and Mars. He's a soldier, that'll appeal to him. And let Venus be on top - it's a wedding chamber, you can't let these things be serious. Besides, as long as she's got dark hair,' Tullia said with a smile, popping an olive into her mouth. 'Sketch it out and tell him it's what the Emperor's having put in his chambers. He'll love it. Men like that want to follow the crowd.'   
  
Livia fished out her wax tablet to scribble herself a few notes. 'He was surprisingly amiable about the rest. I don't think he really minds what I paint provided he has his special painting...' she shrugged. 'Did he love her, do you think, Tullia?'

 

'Who?' 

 

'His dark-haired girl. DId your friend ever say?'

  
'Well, he's still not married, so that says something. As praetor he's got a duty to the state to promote the Roman family, you think he'd have found a bride ages ago. Maybe he did love her. Or the idea of her, anyway - men do that sometimes. ' _ Help me, Great Venus - I've seen a girl that I can't have. _ ' Tullia flung her arms out in the manner of one of the orators and declaimed. 'Couldn't tell you the number of times I've turned my arse up and had the man say someone else's name while they're having me.'   
  
Livia grimaced. 'I hope you charged them extra.' She took another sip of wine. 'That’s another thing - he's not stingy, at least not on the fee front. And...' she hesitated, wondering whether to mention the way he stared at her, the curious, gently sensual speculation in his eyes. On the whole, she thought not. He was probably just seeing his dark-haired girl again - another variant on the age-old theme. Besides, he had his girl in the brothel for that. Maybe he'd like her painted up as Venus mounting Mars instead? ' He asked if I'd dine with him,' she said instead. 'So he's not a snob. Better than some.'

  
Tullia gave her a look that was hard to read, before digging into another cake. In one of the corridors below, a gong clashed heavily. 'Sorry, love, work calls,' Tullia said, rounding up the plates and leaning out into the stairwell to snap for Astyanax to clear them away. 'But you'll keep me up to date, yes? Come 'round and visit?' 

 

'Of course,' Livia said, gathering up her things. The gong was a warning, marking the hour before the brothel was open for business -- and she knew from previous experience it was usually a good idea to be out before the doors opened. She took one of the leftover cakes and snuck back downstairs, climbing the steps to her own little apartment in the building next door.

  
Thoughtfully nibbling, she pulled out a scrap of paper and began sketching her Mars, reclining on a couch very much like the one she'd already seen in his bedchamber. Already erect, that was easy, and then Venus, astride and offering herself, one hand posed high holding the traditional garland. Livia looked at it and then smiled. No -- better still -- an open hand, like she meant to smack him. That would be more to his taste.   
  
She began to lightly sketch it in, mind busy. Perhaps pink streaks raking his chest - a suggestion of earlier punishment before pleasure. Yes. At any rate, his future bride would have a few handy hints as to her husband’s tastes. It might serve as a suggestion to the poor girl - how to please her husband?

_  
_ _And what a husband,_ Livia thought privately.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contracts signed and witnessed, work commences in the house of Simconius -- until Livia meets another one of the women in Simconius' life, who's ...not quite what the painter expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic content.
> 
> (In an HBO graphic kind of way.)

It was easy enough moving her materials into Simconius's house - her brushes and easels weighed a pittance and it wasn't as though she had many clothes to pack. After a small advance disbursement from his steward for chalks and plumb lines she went to the market and began her shopping, directing her purchases of fresh plaster and dyestuffs be delivered to the house.   
  
This was the best part of her work, Livia always found. The initial sketches done, the plaster smooth and gleaming wet on the wall... all that she had to do was take up her brushes and colours and paint. She entered a kind of artist’s dreamland where there was nothing but her canvas in front of her. She'd start on Venus and Mars first. The praetor hadn't objected to her suggestion, merely nodded.   
  
Livia had a feeling his disinterest was partly feigned. She wasn't blind; the door to the 'Master's study' had been left ajar. he might pretend a nobleman's indifference - but he  _ was _ watching her progress. Making sure of his investment, perhaps.

Of course there were days when she was obliged to work elsewhere - Simconius' valet was always very prompt about telling her at breakfast that his master was going to be using this room or that.   
Albinus was an odd fellow, but easy enough to get along with - he had been a gladiator, as she'd predicted, and he seemed to like his master well enough. 'Not the bedroom today, miss,' he’d announce at breakfast. 'The master's having company.'   
  
' _ Company' _ \- no need to tell her what that meant. 'I understand, Albinus. I can work on the landscapes in the dining room. Is your master still happy with the dimensions I sent?' 

 

'I think so, miss.' Albinus nodded at the pine trees dotting the half finished scene on the plaster. 'He says it reminds him of Gaul, on campaign.' A pause. 'He was happy there.'   
  
For Albinus, this was close to a full on declamation. Perhaps he felt he'd been too forward- he scuttled out of the room hastily after saying so much.   Livia pulled up her stool to stand on, and began to- oh Furies, where had she left her brush? Still in the master's chambers, no doubt. Perhaps the gods were good today and 'company' hadn't arrived yet, and she could slip in unseen…

  
Padding softly up the stairs in her sandals, Livia was very nearly at the door of the bedroom when an almighty gasp came from within.  _ Oh my. _ Evidently 'company' had already arrived -- and very quickly gotten to business. 'Yes...yes, my love, yessss...' No need to explain that...but was that...water she heard?

  
She'd heard the slaves complaining this morning about having to drag something very large and heavy upstairs, but hadn't seen what it was. And now her curiosity was piqued.

  
The door to the hallway was closed -- but there was a window, along the patio running the length of the building, with some shutters that didn't quite shut all the way. And besides, how was she to paint the woman if she'd never seen her before?   
  
It wasn't prying, she told herself firmly. Just... artistic license.He'd never have to know she was there. positioning herself carefully next to the window, Livia peered in through the loose slats.

Her breath caught in her throat.

 

What met her eye wasn't particularly scandalous by brothel standards - or even by fresco.

 

The 'something' was a huge copper bathtub, and sitting astride the praetor, lost in her own rocking rhythm, was the 'company', (although the dark tresses were a wig, Livia noticed - henna dyed curls escaped damply from beneath the braids) But she only glanced at the girl for a brief moment. Her full attention was given, rather, to the sight of upright, austere Junius Gnaeus Simconius moving faster, furiously beneath her, one hand guiding her movements - or just barely clinging to some semblance of sanity?

  
And his face! His expression was...exquisite. She'd never seen him quite so... _ gone _ before. 

 

Evidently this was a good day for the company, too; her own expression was one of pleasure - and not even half-meant pleasure at that. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself - especially as she pressed the praetor's head to her breast and let him kiss her there, his tongue darting in and out. Her hands dug into his shoulders and, in a particularly passionate moment, she seemed to scratch at him like a tigress might, red welts appearing on his skin. She opened her eyes - and somehow, impossibly, her gaze ran to the window. Livia stared.   
  


She couldn't  _ see  _ her here, surely? She'd hidden herself too well for that. Livia should get back to her landscapes, there were paintbrushes enough - but she could hardly bear to tear her eyes away from the praetor as a man, rather than frosty nobleman - the man who cried out in wordless longing, who ran his hands over his partner’s back as though she were marble, rather than woman, groaning, arching up into her - his kisses were growing more ragged along with his breathing, and with a full-throated groan he took a hardening nipple in his mouth. He wasn't far from climax, now. It was with reluctance that Livia at last tore her glance away from the passionate commerce in the bathtub (with much energetic splashing, she noted) and climbed wobbly-legged (why were her legs shaking? Why was heat pooling in her gut?) back down to the ground. 

 

_ Pine trees _ , she thought, shakily.  _ I must concentrate on the pine trees… _

  
She was not nearly far enough away when they finished - the groan of pleasure was enough to make even her, hardened by years of living next to a very prosperous brothel, quiver a little. She took the stairs as quick as she could and pressed herself to the cool of the plaster, her heart beating like a drum. 

 

_ Pine trees. Mountains. Cold. _

  
'Albinus!' There was the master, shouting from upstairs. Livia peeked out - only to see the master in all his naked glory on the balcony, looking for his body servant. 'Wine for the Lady Lavinia.'   
  
'Coming, master!' Livia could hear Albinus limping through the passageway, the stiff leg that had ended his days in the arena dragging a little. 'Honey cakes?' Yes, they had probably worked up quite an appetite, Livia thought dazedly, bending over her pigments and stirring in her brush, quickly. Lady Venus... she would have to ask Tullia about bathtubs. Not something an ordinary working girl could afford. 

 

And, faintly piqued... perhaps about red-heads in upmarket brothels. Evidently Simconius' tastes were broader than she thought. How stupid she'd been, imagining interest from him. He could buy greater beauty and pleasure whenever it pleased him. 

 

(But, oh, how it pleased him...)   
  
'Your fresco artist should be congratulated,' the whore announced from the balcony with the air of someone used to commenting on art. 'The Venus up here is coming along nicely.' 

 

'Should you like to see the triclinium?'   
  
That was interesting in itself , Livia noted. He talked to -- Lavinia, had they said? Noble, certainly - more likely a mistress than a whore for hire by the hour. He'd clearly found a better replacement for his dark-haired love.She was someone he talked to as well as bedded. Well. At least he had someone.

 

The thought made her somehow feel as if she'd been plunged into mourning. There had been a kind of romance to it, that longing for a woman he couldn't have. His dark-haired ideal. The praise for her work didn't light her up as it normally would.  She whisked herself into an appearance of absorption in her work, concentrating on daubing the faint shadow of snow on a distant mountain near the pines.

  
'That's quite good.' 

 

She turned, pretending surprise as the henna-haired goddess from the bathtub observed from the doorway. She was older than Livia had first thought - not a girl at all but a woman, and a bold one, too, standing in a loose robe only vaguely tied at the waist. 'Where do you find them, Junius?' she asked. Her lover appeared at her shoulder, clothed now.

 

'You should go to more of Caius Scarpax's dinner parties,' he said with a smile.

  
Livia felt, somehow, intrusive, and turned self-consciously back to the work at hand. 'Your honey cakes, sir,' she heard Albinus say in the courtyard. 

Oh, thank Minerva. They were gone.

Livia turned -- only to see that Lavinia was at her shoulder, the master presumably gone in the direction of the promised cakes. 'It really is quite remarkable,' she repeated. 'And your Venus upstairs is...arresting. Not a traditional pose for the great lady, but...I rather enjoyed it. As I am sure Junius Gnaeus does also. And I'm  _ sure _ he wouldn't mind if you came in next time,' she added, her voice an arresting whisper in Livia's ear.

 

Livia felt her skin go white. Gods above, she'd been seen. All the work, gone. Commissions, gone. any chance of more work, if the Praetor had seen 'Did he.. d-did-' she stammered, hardly daring to ask the question. 'D-did he-' 

 

Lavinia looked amused at her evident mental agony. She burst out laughing. 'Men don't see anything when they're that occupied,' she said, with a knowing wink. ' I promise you. A personal guarantee,' she added, with a certain smile. 'as a lady of Venus myself.' Her tone was friendly. ‘I should have you paint me,' Lavinia said with a smile. 'Maybe like your Venus up there -- I rather liked her expression. She was very...commanding. As she should be.'

 

‘I can give you my fees, dominia,” Livia offered with a bow. ‘If you will excuse me - my plaster…’

  
‘Oh, goodness, yes, paint away!’ Lavinia said, stepping aside to let Livia return to her work before the plaster dried. When Livia turned around again, she was gone, back up to Simconius’ room and the wine and cakes.   


 

_ What a woman, _  Livia thought privately, trying to return her attention to her wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Lavinia. Where would we be without her conveniently lax morals? In this storyline, alas, she is not the titled lady she is in the Royal Tigress, but rather a highly regarded courtesan whose services our dear Simconius is only too glad to pay for.
> 
> (To give credit where due, the image of our favorite ginger in the bathtub comes to us from the good folks over at Salem...)

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone keeping count, Tullia (the neighbor) and Albinus (the valet/bodyslave) are new. We leave you to figure out who Marcus Honorius, and the dark haired lady who threw over Simconius, are.


End file.
